


Recursion

by smeem



Category: BrainPOP
Genre: F/M, M/M, i am proud of this community, there is no autofill tag for tim/rita, tim brainpop says fuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:49:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22524304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smeem/pseuds/smeem
Summary: Tim draws the line at being prospectively ripped apart with meat hooks.
Relationships: Moby/Tim (BrainPOP), Tim/Rita
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Recursion

“Moby, what are we gonna do with all this weird fan mail?” Tim asked, “There’s no return address. Do you think we can still call the cops?  _ Should  _ we call the cops? They know where we live, I mean.”

_ Dear Tim and Moby, _

_ How long is it before I rip you apart with meat hooks? _

_ -Anonymous _

Tim stared at the piece of paper, his hand to his forehead in exasperation. An influx in these disturbing letters took place over the past week. Weird questions were normal, but they  _ never  _ received them anonymously- and they were never in any way threatening. 

Moby beeped in response, shrugging his shoulders. He seemed to hold an intense disregard for the situation, and on a larger scale, a disregard for humanity itself. 

_ Right,  _ Tim thought,  _ I’m the smart one. I should know these things.  _

Tim paced around his apartment. He couldn’t fathom a member of his target demographic sending a message so twisted. Meat hooks weren’t the worst of the ordeal. Compared to a few of the former, this letter could be called tame. It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did- but perhaps this was the final straw on the proverbial camel’s back.

His train of thought was jolted to a halt when he heard his phone ring.  _ Everytime we Touch,  _ meaning it was Rita. He hurried to pick it up before Moby’s vicious mockery could ensue. 

“Rita?”

_ “Tim! Are you okay?!”  _ Rita’s voice cracked through the phone. 

“I’m fine. What’s wrong?”

_ “Oh, thank God! I’ve been getting these weird letters about you!” _

“Me too! They want to like, rip me apart with meat hooks, or something. Isn’t that crazy? I think some fan’s pulling a tasteless prank.” 

_ “Really? This one says they’re going to force feed you your own kidneys, and they want four thousand dollars for your ransom!” _

“Four thousand dollars?” Tim evaluated his worth as a human being. “Huh... That’s a bit much. Wait, I’m not being held hostage! Whoever this is doesn’t even know the definition of ransom! Ransom, from Merriam-Webster: a consideration paid or demanded for the release of someone or something-” 

_ “I’m coming over!”  _ Rita hung up. Tim still wondered why there was a ransom if he wasn’t being held hostage. That might actually rule out the possibility of a legitimate killer; unless, of course, said killer was confident enough in their abilities that no hostage-taking would be necessary...

Oh, well. Tim decided that if God willed his untimely death, he would accept it as what he deserved. He reclined on the sofa to browse the rest of his mail. 

_ Dear Tim and Moby, _

_ How does photosynthesis work? _

_ -Johnny _

Tim tossed the cringe letter back onto the epic coffee table with deep-rooted contempt.  _ Doesn’t he know that chloroplasts use the Sun’s energy to make glucose from water and carbon dioxide? I already made a video on this. Can’t he just... shit. No, he cannot just shit. No.  _ Tim’s train of thought was once again interrupted, this time by sirens outside his apartment. He opened the blinds and was met with  _ chaos _ .

Rita’s car was mangled beyond recognition, and the wreck of the engine had caught one of the houses down the street on fire. Rita herself was nowhere to be seen- she was assumedly (hopefully) being relocated to the ambulance, from which the siren still sounded. Tim opened the front door to rush to the scene, but found himself crashing into a metallic orange wall.

“Moby! What’s going on out there?!” 

Moby shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Moby, I swear to God- what the fuck is that?”

The robot quickly moved his hands behind his back, avoiding eye contact.

“Is that a letter?!”

**Author's Note:**

> to my friend moby: sorry??


End file.
